


His Inner Tim

by Moonshine_Givens



Series: Thinking of you [1]
Category: Justified
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Porn, Semi-Public Sex, implicit Boyd/Raylan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-03-14
Packaged: 2017-12-05 06:39:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonshine_Givens/pseuds/Moonshine_Givens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know how, in 'Fifty Shades of Grey', Anastasia has a Inner Goddess? Well, Raylan has an Inner Gutterson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Inner Tim

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there, Gunslingers!!!!!  
> I'm writing this one as a answer to a prompt from the lovely, wonderful, all time great ilovealistair!  
> The prompt was: "Wynn/Raylan based on that scene in the last episode. Please no non-con, but dub-con is fine."  
> I... didn't quite met the prompt? It's not... you know... exactly based on that scene. I'm sorry. Really.  
> But it is Wynn/Raylan! And I really really REALLY hope you like it. If you don't, that's okay, I'll just write your other prompt.

Raylan is developing an inner Tim Gutterson. His inner Tim Gutterson acts pretty much as the actual Tim Gutterson: stands there, in a corner of his brain, straight-faced judging each of his life choices.

 _“What’s your deal with criminals anyway?”_ his inner Gutterson asks. _“Is it daddy issues or some sort of kink?”_

He wants to flip his inner Gutterson off, but you can’t rightly flip your own brain off and remain dignified. He’ll have to settle with hitting the real son of a bitch some time tomorrow.

Raylan waits outside of Johnny’s bar, playing with a recent empty bottle of Wild Turkey and asking the Harlan night – and not his inner Gutterson – what the hell is he doing with his life. He came to talk to Boyd, _again_ : why else does he come to Harlan anyway? Sometimes it seems like his whole life lately is just a good excuse to talk to Boyd, from the shooting in Miami to every single case that goes through his desk.

He waited just a second more before getting out the car, one single second where he was wondering why the hell he keeps coming back to this place; why the hell does his heart races when he hears Boyd’s voice; why the hell isn’t he running in the other direction instead of here, playing with fire – those were the million dollar questions that were hunting his mind when the door opens, and Wynn Duffy steps out of the bar.

Raylan’s heart races, but Boyd’s nowhere to be seen.

 _“This is in no way better, you know that, right?”_ the Gutterson voice teases, and Raylan pretends he’s not right.

Because he’s too vulnerable today, to raw and easy to hurt, and he knows what Boyd can do when he’s like that. He knows Boyd has the power to destroy him, to eat him alive and to let him to rotten in Harlan’s ground, that Boyd isn’t afraid not is he merciful: Boyd is a Crowder, and Crowders are never merciful. He knows that, just as he knows he’ll do something stupid tonight, that his drunk mind and his heavy limbs won’t let him just get in the car and drive all the way back to Lexington without ruining something good.

So he might as well ruin Duffy, because Duffy is different from Boyd: this blond stranger didn’t know him when he was just a kid, bruised and afraid, scared of the dark. No, Duffy doesn’t know him at all, has no power over him, Duffy never tended to his wounds or licked his tears, Duffy never loved him or hated him, not really. Duffy is still afraid, has been afraid since that day Raylan came looking for Quarles, has no idea what Raylan is capable of. So Duffy is perfect, really, because Duffy Raylan can control.

 _“No way better.”_ Tim tsk in his mind, but Raylan is already out of the car.

Mute Mike is not in the vicinity, and Raylan hopes Boyd kills him. Or sleeps with him, since Raylan is not quite sure what the worst fate here is.

He enjoys the moment Duffy finally sees him, the way his eyes flash with surprise and sudden fear. It’s just a second, right before Duffy is putting on a mask and straightening his stance, but it’s a glorious second.

“Deputy Givens, always a…”

“Keep your voice down, Duffy, we don’t want anyone to bother us.”

“Is that so, marshal? And here was I, thinking you only had friends here in Harlan County.”

“You know me, miss congeniality.”

Raylan has been taking small steps towards Wynn, watching as the man looked back to the bar, as if waiting for someone to step outside. Finally Raylan was close enough to take a hold of Wynn’s arm, close enough to see the way the criminal shivered and seemed startled.

“C’mon, Duffy, I wanna talk to you for a sec. I feel like we haven’t really talked in ages.” He drags Wynn across the parking lot, coming around the building to be outside the view of anyone coming out. As he throws Duffy against the bar wall, using way more force than necessary, he knows he must be just outside of Boyd’s office, where Boyd is probably hiding right now, thinking about whatever news Duffy came all the way from Frankfurt to discuss.

The thrill of doing this against Boyd’s wall fills Raylan to the brim, and he pushes Duffy one more time, even though he knows the music inside the bar is loud enough that there’s no way Boyd will hear them, no way for the other man to hear the pretty way Duffy moans when his head knock against the cold stone, his breath heavy already.

“Marshal Givens, I’m sure there is no need for such violence.”

“So, you and Boyd are best friends now?” Raylan says, ignoring Duffy’s words. “Last time you were this friendly with anyone, I don’t remember things working out that well…”

Duffy still has his head against the wall, but the look in his eyes doesn’t betray concern anymore: he looks like he is watching Raylan under a new light.

 _“He’s not as dumb as you look, Raylan.”_ His inner Gutterson sing-songs.

“Deputy, really?” Wynn says, outside of Raylan’s head. “You come talk to me to see if I’m gonna rat Boyd Crowder out to you? I’m hurt, Raylan, here I was thinking we had something special.”

“Oh, we have something special alright.” Raylan hovers over Duffy, one hand still fisted in his arm, the other against the wall. As he leans ever closer, he knows full well Duffy can smell the booze on his breath, knows that this only makes the man more afraid. “If I want to know what Boyd’s been doin’, Duffy, I only have to ask the man himself. Or you think he won’t talk with an old friend?”

“So that’s what this is, then?” Duffy is smiling now, and his inner Gutterson just puts a hand over his eyes, unwilling to witness this train wreck. “You jealous I’m playing with your bff? Raylan-pooh is afraid Boydsie won’t love you no more?”

Raylan laughs, even though it’s bitter to his own ears.

“You think I care who Boyd is playing with those days? I know him better than that…”

“And he knows you quite well, or so I’ve heard…”

“…and I really worry more about you than about him, Wynn. It’s a dangerous job to be Boyd’s bitch.”

“You should…” but Wynn stops before saying _know_. Raylan doesn’t know why, but must be something in his face, something in the way he looks that warns Duffy off. That or the fact that Raylan so slightly move his hips in a way that makes his gun more visible. “…not worry about me, Raylan. I’m dealing with things just fine.”

“And how’s that, Wynn? You sucking Boyd real good?” and Raylan knows how he sounds, knows he must be looking like a predator. “Keepin’ his cock warm and happy?”

Duffy doesn’t smile, but seems satisfied nonetheless. He looks Raylan up and down, pausing just enough time on the bulge in Raylan’s pants.

“You look like you’re dying to find out, deputy.” He tries to walk away, but Raylan is right there, throwing his back at the wall and this time pressing up with his whole body: as Duffy looks at him with eyebrows raised high, Raylan realizes there’s no more point trying to deny what is happening here.

“Maybe someday I will.” Raylan says, right against his ear.

“It seems this day will come sooner than later.” Duffy finally gets a hint of panic in his voice as Raylan forces his legs apart, pressing his erection against the other man’s crotch.

“You’re not afraid of me, are you, Wynn?” Raylan does small movements at first, testing the water, feeling Duffy getting hard under him. “After all, we do have something special, don’t we?”

Duffy doesn’t answer with words, but Raylan can feel the moment he starts answering the movements. If he said something, if he tried to push Raylan or even if he had stood still, Raylan is sure – almost sure, and that’s good enough for now – that he would have backed off. As it is, Duffy is moving against him in no time, humping his leg and grabbing his arms, and they both know Duffy is not some blushing virgin that wouldn’t stop if this wasn’t exactly what he wants as well.

Wynn is completely hard now, but Raylan moves a hand between them to touch him anyway. He gives him a hard, painful squeeze, and proceeds to jerk him of through his pants with hard moves. His other hand travels Duffy’s stomach, his chest, plays with his nipples over his shirt. Raylan doesn’t want him to get off on this, he wants Duffy to want it pretty bad, to beg for it, so Raylan can do… everything.

And Duffy doesn’t disappoint: before long he’s clawing Raylan’s arms through the shirt, trying to escape the dry jerk off that must be surely hurting his skin. Raylan plays with him a little while, waiting until he’s mumbling under his breath (not a “please” yet, but soon, soon…) to turn him around, smashing his face against the wall.

Raylan’s sure Duffy has something to say, but it’s not a “no”, it’s not “stop”, so Raylan won’t listen. He opens his own pants now, the zipper going down, pulling his erect cock to the night air and rubbing it against Duffy’s ass. The moment he starts to move against the other man’s back he hears the front door opening, the way the music from the bar turns louder and quiets after a second.

Raylan imagines it’s Boyd, Boyd who just got out of the bar, looking for Duffy or maybe just walking under the stars, as he always liked. Raylan imagines Boyd listening to the muffled sounds Duffy makes against the wall the moment his hand touches the man’s cock again, this time from inside the pants. Boyd would come to investigate, turn around the corner of the building to catch Raylan with his cock out, rutting against Duffy’s ass while jerking him off, biting Duffy’s neck hard, pulling at his blond locks with one hand, his hat long forgotten on the ground, his star pressed against Wynn Duffy’s back side.

It’s bad that he almost comes then, pretending Boyd is watching him. It’s bad enough that not even his inner Tim wants to be a smart ass about it.

“Please… Ray… Raylan, please.” Wynn is muttering against the wall, and Raylan will listen, but only because it took so much to make the man beg so prettily. “Please, Raylan, let me…”

“Let you what, Duffy? Watchu want?” Raylan slows down, just a bit, just enough so he’s not coming just yet.

“Let me… just… I’ll suck you, I’ll make it good, Ray-lan...”

For a second Raylan doubts: doubts that Wynn wants to do it, or if the man would just rather suck cock than being fucked dry and raw against a wall out in the open. He wouldn’t, not really; not unless Duffy asked for it, and he would make sure the man was really asking, and not just afraid of the piece he’s carrying on his holster. But Wynn is pressing against his cock and moaning and fucking his fist, so maybe he really wants, maybe he is this good.

Raylan backs off entirely, ceasing all contact with Duffy’s body. The man trembles and almost falls, has to lean heavily against the wall, and looks back as if the other man was completely insane.

Sure, now he thinks Raylan is insane. What the hell, Wynn Duffy.

“C’mon now.” Raylan says out loud, leaning his own body against the wall, keep his distance from Duffy and spreading his legs, his cock still hard and at display. “You gonna do it or what?”

Duffy takes a second: a long second where Raylan is not sure if the man won’t just fix his clothes and walk away. He seems to enjoy the vision of Raylan’s legs, though, and licks his own lips as he scans Raylan’s erect cock, not even for show, just ‘cause. Raylan won’t say the man is attractive, but the vision is enough to keep him going, and he only thinks about Boyd once as he strokes his own cock.

Duffy moves towards him slowly, and Raylan knows he must have hurt the man. He couldn’t care less, though. Duffy won’t look in his eyes as he knells between his legs, just outside a hillbilly bar, ready to suck him like a two-dollar whore, cheaper than the girls from Audrey’s.

Raylan has to poke him, one more time. He just can’t get enough – fucking with Wynn Duffy may be even better than fucking him.

“Now, now.” Raylan says, raising his face with a finger, making the man look at him. “You watch your teeth, now. If you bite me I’ll have to complain with your pimp Boyd, and he won’t be happy.”

“You wanna talk about Boyd all night or you want me to suck you?” Duffy has a challenge in his eyes, and Raylan doesn’t make him wait any longer: his hand travels fast to the back of his neck, and as his fingers close against the blond hair, as Raylan presses the smirking face against his cock.

It’s fast and it’s warm, Raylan fucking Wynn’s face more than Wynn really sucking him off. The man is active enough, though, grabbing Raylan’s thighs and hollowing his cheeks, trying hard to bob his head in time with Raylan’s quick stabs. He can’t swallow it all and he can’t help but gag around the large dick, but Raylan couldn’t care less at this point: he feels the orgasm building without his permission. He would have preferred to make Duffy work for it, make his jaw hurt and his lips split, but as it is, it’s not long before he’s closing his eyes and reaching with his free hand to the wall of Boyd’s office, moaning low in his throat.

Even through the fog of his orgasm, Raylan takes a second to free his cock and come all over Duffy’s face: it makes him smile as the asshole he’s quite sure he is tonight, looking down and the Dixie Mafia man kneeling in the dirty, one hand inside his own pants, moving fast, his face covered with hot come.

“Looks good on you.” Duffy just hits his hands away, getting up, cleaning his own face on a rumpled tie. Raylan reaches for him again, but the man back away. “C’mon, why so shy now? Let me finish up for you.” Raylan is not that much of an asshole.

“No need. I’m sure Mike can do something about it.” but Raylan is against him again, trying to push him against the wall again and getting his right hand inside his trousers, when…

Well. That’s interesting, then.

Raylan can’t help but laugh, leaning against the wall, as he tries to clean the come from his fingers: Duffy was already finished.

“Oh, c’mon, don’t be like that! There’s no shame in being a hungry cocksucker come-slut, Wynn, you know that!”

Duffy just pouts a little more, fix his come-stained tie once again, and walks away without saying another word.

Raylan is left there, in the cold air night, fixing his own clothes and staring at his hat, a few feet away. He doesn’t see the humor in the situation anymore, and he wishes he was still as drunk as he was half an hour ago: he can only feel the bitter taste of the beginning of a hangover now.

It seems the night is coming to an end in the bar as well, as the music dies down and random people come out, walking with unsure legs to their cars. Finally, the lights are turned off, and a few minutes later – Raylan has no idea how long he’s standing there, watching the night goes by – he hears the door open one last time, and the familiar voice:

“See ya tomorrow, cousin Johnny! Ava, baby, let’s go!”

The sound of Ava’s heels are loud in the desert parking lot, but Raylan only gets a glimpse of them as they are almost reaching their own car. He watches as Boyd stops by his car, undoubtedly recognizing Raylan’s ride, gently stroking the hood as someone would do with a horse. Boyd doesn’t look back, though. He takes Ava by the hand and walks away, getting inside his own vehicle and driving away, fast.

Raylan wishes for something else tonight. In the end, he’s stuck with Gutterson’s words of wisdom, saying _“At least your inner voice doesn’t sound like Art.”_

**Author's Note:**

> So, how am I in not writing Boyd/Raylan? It feels really crazy for me, but I hope you all like it - especially you, ilovealistair, since, you know, you're the one to blame!  
> You wanna talk to me, ask prompts for porn, yell at me, just be my friend, wtvs, I'm at ohthati.tumblr.com  
> THANK YOU FOR READING IT!


End file.
